The lovesick, white-capped waves of Boston bay
Began the morn as if by magic kissed.
And once Diana fell to sleep, some say
The tide then tried to chase her through the mist.
The clouds, e’er thick, were steps from sea to sky
– And though, perhaps a Davy’s locker dream –
The water wished to write waves ever high
To woo and hod the Pearl-of-Cosmos gleam.
Though such was seen as foolish a notion,
The moon and sea still met ‘pon stairs of chance.
For lacking moon, the waves held no motion,
And without sea, the moon knew not romance.
For just as moon swells blue’d breath to the sea,
‘TIs only thee who brings such breath to me.

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